Bridges to Babylon
by Sandylee007
Summary: When Dr. Derek Morgan meets a patient named Spencer who claims he's come to help Derek the doctor is sceptical. Is the patient really crazy, or is there something else entirely going on?    A POTENTIAL FOURSHOT        NO HEAVY RELIGIOUS THEMES


A/N: I really wanted to try something new, and then this baby came to me. (grins sheepishly) Not to worry – this won't affect my other 'projects'. ('And Then There Were Two' should be updated right on time, and 'Sweet Life of Mine' will FINALLY be continued tomorrow.) (grins from ear to ear) (Yay?)

Awkay, to the business…

WARNINGS: Ehm… General oddness. No heavy religious themes, though. Some harsh language. A tiny bit of blood and such. (blinks) Ya know, for my fic that list is quite short!

DISCLAIMER: The day I own ANYTHING out of 'CM', Dr. Spencer Reid is a real life person. (sighs with misery)

Awkay… (takes a deep breath) I'm on the edge of changing my mind about sending this, so let's get to the business. I REALLY hope you'll enjoy the ride!

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><p><strong><em>Bridges to Babylon<em>**

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><p>'<em>In a mad world, only the mad are sane.<em>'  
>(Akiro Kurosawa)<p>

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><p>CHAPTER 14: Spencer

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><p>Dr. Derek Morgan closed his eyes as he stood on the rooftop of Weylon Brigde Asylum and let the icy breeze of early winter caress his face with a cruel hand. He had absolutely no idea how long he'd been up there, as though waiting for something. He didn't manage to become bothered by the fact that his bare fingers were going numb.<p>

Being numb was much better than the other alternative.

He took a long, hungry inhale of his cigarrette, fighting back stubbornly when the smoke seemed to set his lungs on fire. Mostly to distract himself from the discomfort he gazed downwards, where life was streaming forth with unstoppable force. The sight filled Derek's entire body with unexplainable, feral rage that _burned_.

Today it was exactly two hundred and seventy days, he realized. Two hundred and seventy days, and the world was still spinning like nothing had ever happened. He couldn't understand how that was possible. How the hell was that fair?

The burning intensified, making Derek's eyes narrow.

It was such a long time ago the world made any sense at all to him.

Perhaps it was fortunate that he was pulled out of those thoughts by the shrill, demanding scream of his pager. His eyes narrowing once more Derek dropped the cigarrette over the roof's ledge and watched it fall down along with soft snowflakes. For this one, fleeting moment he felt almost suffocating need to follow. But then he closed his eyes, held his breath for exactly five seconds and filled his lungs with freezingly cold air that made his chest hurt. When he opened his eyes again he felt dizzy but at least slightly more coherent. He didn't feel like falling to pieces anymore. That thought comforted him so that he managed to focus on his pager's tiny screen. A light groan crawled out of his throat.

Another new patient.

As he turned and headed inside Derek could've sworn he heard a voice whispering his name in the wind. He didn't stop to listen.

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><p>Derek struggled to maintain his usual professional front when he walked to where a young male nurse with his body structure, shortcut black hair and just as dark eyes – Jacob Kingston – was waiting for him outside one of the asylum's isolation rooms. "So, what do we have?"<p>

Jacob sighed heavily and rubbed his face with one hand. "Looks like a pretty bad case of schizophrenia. He's not violent or even aggressive, and he's not self destructive although he's clearly been cutting himself for a long time. He was pretty agitated when he came, though, so we'll see if he needs some mild sedative. He keeps saying that he's… an angel, or something like that, and he's here on a mission." The nurse went through the files in his hands. "Some driver almost ran him over – he was sitting in the middle of a street without any clothes on." The nurse sighed. "The kid is lucky he didn't freeze to death."

Derek frowned. "Kid?"

Jacob's eyes held a great deal of sadness. "He's barely in his mid-twenties. 'Looks like they come here younger and younger."

Derek sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, feeling even more miserable than before. "Any idea who he is and where he came from?"

Jacob shook his head. "The kid has no ID, but he calls himself Spencer."

Derek nodded, unsure what to make of all this. Usually when he heard the information he got at least some sort of a instant hunch – he, at very least, knew what to do first. But now… Now, he had absolutely no clue what he was doing as he stared at the door before him. He gave himself a inner scowl.

This proved that he'd done too much drinking in the weekend. His mind wasn't working straight anymore.

In the end he sighed, rubbed his face once more and prepared himself for entering. "Well, I guess I should go in to see what this all about."

"Good luck", Jacob commented, clearly meaning it from the bottom of his heart.

The first thing Derek noticed upon entering was that the patient – Spencer, apparently – wasn't in restraints. That wasn't much of a surprise, concidering the knowledge that the patient wasn't aggressive or acutely self destructive. And then he looked, really looked, at his newest patient.

Spencer was sitting on the tiny room's floor, knees brought to his chest and arms wrapped loosely around them. The patient's half-long, brown hair seemed like it hadn't been washed in a while, and the man appeared dangerously pale and underweight. It was clear the patient hadn't been taking care of himself properly in a long time. The long, obviously self-inflicted scars and almost fresh wounds all over the brunet's bare arms and legs proved that point in their silent, harsh way. But still the young man's large, brown eyes carried something he'd never seen before when they met his, as though recognizing. The aura around the man… He'd never seen such innocence.

And then Spencer smiled. "Hey. I've been waiting for you."

Derek nodded slowly, trying to ignore the chills those words brought on him. While fishing a piece of paper he cleared his throat before speaking, hoping he sounded professional. "I'm Dr. Derek Morgan. According to the information I have your name is Spencer."

The patient nodded, looking at him with unreadable eyes, but didn't speak.

Derek wrote down the accord, then went on. "I assume one of the nurses took a blood test from you. It's a standard procedure that we run a tox screen on new patients, so that we know you haven't taken anything."

Spencer frowned at those words. "Patients?"

Derek nodded, slightly confused until a thought occurred to him. "Spencer… You know why you're here, right?"

It was Spencer's turn to nod. "I came here because I have a mission." The man's eyes barely left him. "I came, because my mission is to help you."

Derek blinked slowly. Now this was a new one. "Help me?"

Suddenly Spencer was very serious, almost scared. "I… I'm not crazy, I swear." The brunet's voice rose as panic came flooding in. "I'm not crazy. I don't belong here."

"Spencer." Derek was careful to make his tone firm but gentle. He took a deep breath, wondering how in the world he'd work through this one. "We don't call anyone here crazy. But I'm sure you understand that you need help. It's December, and you were found from the street naked. And it looks like you've been hurting yourself for a while, now. So right now you need help. That's why you're here. That's why I'm here."

Sadness swam into Spencer's eyes, along with something else he couldn't name. "You don't believe me."

Derek sighed, wondering why he felt this sudden need to apologise. The brunet before him was clearly delusional – he was supposed to be the professional here. He was supposed to help this person before him, even though all his instincts told him to walk away. Spencer was making him nervous in ways no other patient had before although they'd met less than ten minutes earlier. Derek couldn't understand it, and he hated things he couldn't understand. "I know that this is all overwhelming, but we're all trying to help you." Meeting no acceptance in the other man's eyes he went on. "It's pretty late, but I'll tell the nurses to give you something to eat. You seem pretty starved. Try to get some rest – it'll help you think more clearly. I'll talk to you again tomorrow. Before that I'll try to figure out how we should start out."

Spencer frowned, appearing extremely mistrusting. "What do you mean?"

He tried to offer the brunet a smile. "You know, how often we should meet, what we should discuss, where we're headed, your medication…"

Spencer shook his head furiously, appearing almost terrified, and seemed to shrink deeper into himself. "No. Please, no medication. No."

Derek grit his teeth so tightly he drew blood. Goddamnit, he hated this…! "Spencer, we're going to work on this together – it's the only way you'll ever get better, do you understand? I won't make you do or take anything that isn't good for you. You need to trust me. All of this is for you."

Spencer didn't say anything, only shrunk so far into himself that it felt impossible to think that he might emerge one day. Whatever little connection there'd been between them was gone. Spencer had slipped away. Sighing with defeat Derek straightened his form, coming to a conclusion that there wasn't much more he'd be able to do for now, no matter how much he hated leaving things this way.

Derek had almost made his way out of the room until something made him freeze completely. Spencer… was humming. And he recognized the song so well that his skin crawled.

It was 'Lana' from Roy Orbison.

Derek could've dismissed it as a coincidence, or as a symptom of Spencer's illness. But some distant, tiny part of him refused to accept it.

Shaking off that disturbing thought he completed his journey and emerged from the room, closing and locking the door firmly after himself.

Nurse Jacob was still waiting for him in the hallway. The man gave him a questioning look. "Well?"

Derek shook his head, his grim expression most likely speaking volumes. It took a long moment before he managed to speak. "You know how this goes. Keep him on suicide watch. He's catatonic right now, so try to get him responsive." He took a piece of paper and wrote down a list he knew by hard. "Give him this, if things get out of hand. I'm headed home."

Jacob arched an eyebrow. "Home, this time?"

Derek didn't bother saying a word. With a brief wave of a hand he headed towards the elevator.

He couldn't help wondering why his feet felt impossibly heavy, like there'd been something holding him back.

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><p>It was far past eleven pm when Derek finally made it home, far too aware of the fact that he reeked of alcohol and cigarrettes. His dog Clooney gave him a loudly speaking accusative look and wouldn't budge from its place on the couch when he snarled an order. Derek rolled his eyes, not having the energy to argue any longer. He was almost passed out, anyway – all he wanted to do was to crawl into bed and sleep until all eternity.<p>

Throwing off his jacket and shoes he made his way to the bedroom's doorway and felt his heart ache at what he found.

His wife was already fast asleep, her messy hair hiding her face from sight. She lay on her stomach with both hands squeezing the pillow so hard her knuckles had turned white. Although he tried to resist the thought he couldn't help wondering if she'd cried herself to sleep.

Feeling sick to his stomach at that thought Derek walked closer slowly, cautiously, and slipped to the bed as carefully as a thief. After hesitating for a moment he leaned forward and gave his wife's head a tiny kiss. She emitted a tiny sound but didn't wake up.

She didn't lean closer, either. In the past she always leaned closer.

Swallowing futilely against the lump that formed into his throat he rolled to side, so that his back was turned against his wife. His eyes stung and felt suspiciously moist as they stared almost blankly at the opposite wall. After a remarkably long time he blinked once when spotting a heart shaped stain on the wall.

When did that appear?

Eventually the aftershock of alcohol in his system lulled Derek to restless sleep. In his dreams 'Lana' kept playing, over and over again.

Derek didn't know that in sleep, two tears rolled down his cheeks.

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><p>TBC OR NOT?<p>

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><p>AN: Sooo… Here's something different, I guess. (sweatdrops)

How was that – any good, at all? **PLEASE**, leave a review! Let me know if I should explode this, or ship out the rest of the three chapters.

Gah, it's getting late, and I should wake up before five in the morning (brutal, I know…).

Thank you so much for reading this!

'Hope I'll hear from ya one day.

Peace out!


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